The Preservation of Thranduil
by Elizabeth Athineu
Summary: When a strange creature emerges from the chest of treasure Thranduil has claimed after the war, it will take more than a council of wizards and wizened elves to help him decide how best to handle it as it changes his family, his kingdom, and his ever-growing knowledge of the world as a young king.
1. Small Chest of Wonders

**The Preservation of Thranduil**

"**Courage is not knowing when to take a life, but when to spare it." - Gandalf**

**Chapter 1:****Small Chest of Wonders**

It had not been more than three months since the battle of the Five Armies, King Thranduil proudly led his victorious men back towards Mirkwood, riding tall on his steed with his silvery armor glistening in the Middle Earth Sun. They had buried their dead alongside the dwarves and men; a fitting end to have such unity. They had mourned with the dwarves and all the men before they had eagerly taken a fair share of treasure for their troubles. Thranduil was absolutely giddy about the new acquisitions he'd been allowed to take, the only other emotion he bore besides the sorrow for the loss of his kindred and relief of not losing his precious son. One of the items was an abnormally large chest filled with strange white gold coins and several pale gems, or at least that what it had held when he had opened and admired it. The top of the chest had an odd marking with a wheel and several odd symbols in it. Neither he nor Gandalf recognized them right off, but Thranduil could care less about the chest; its contents were what he truly wanted and they would be small comfort for the loss of life and continued infestation of his kingdom to the south.

As the group made camp the first night, Thranduil eagerly took the chest into his tent and, after leaving for a pleasant meal with his son and the other warriors under the stars, he ordered one of the unlucky traveling servants to go and polish all the coins she could in the chest. She looked terribly pale and weary and the kind Elvenking gently reminded her of how lovely and loyal she was. Renewed by his compliment, the girl set to work as the king strode out of the tent. Music rang through the edge of the forest, as did the aromas of meats and breads, and fresh flowers. As Thranduil sat listening to the wonderful songs and drinking wine with his beloved Legolas, who was smiling reservedly, there suddenly came a raucous from The Elvenking's tent.

"A monster! A monster!" the servant cried as she ran from the tent shrieking. The entire host of elves stood.

Thranduil looked very perplexed and ordered his closest guards, Tauriel at the head, and son to follow. Legolas caught hold of the servant quickly and gently tried to calm her and ask her about the ordeal. She frantically claimed there was a beast in the gold. Confused, Thranduil halted and asked her to describe the beast. She painted an image with fevered words of a strange goblin bird, coloured like blood but with the pale gems for eyes and sharp teeth as if it were some kind of snake owl. The king's men hurried in and searched the tent after the chest itself and found nothing. Thranduil, followed closely by Legolas, entered, but all they found was a curious raccoon feeding on the king's private store of fruit. Thranduil sighed and took the servant tenderly by the arm.

"The horrors of war have taken too great a toll on such a delicate maiden," he said reassuringly. He called for the healers at once who led her to a tent for the wounded. "See that she rests and has good, clear water in her as well." The servant trembled, but followed the healers, still convinced at what she had seen. Thranduil turned to Legolas who shook his head. He placed a hand on his young son's shoulder. "Try to keep her mind on other things; go and sit with her and deter her from thoughts about such a creature."

Legolas nodded and hurried off to obey his father. Thranduil sighed and made sure that the raccoon had taken all the fruit it wanted before beginning to retire for the evening. He glanced over at the chest and gently lifted the lid. Shimmering pale gold and pale gems, nothing more. He sighed and slipped into bed welcoming a well-deserved sleep. As night passed and Thranduil slept, he thought he saw a very strange owl sitting in the tent on a post . . . but with a long tail. He sat bolt upright and looked around, lighting a candle with magic and scanning the area. Nothing. He shook himself awake and dismissed it as having had too much meat and wine.

After the king's head lay back against the pillow, the creature climbed off the top of the canopy and scurried down the pole. It stopped and stared at the king for a moment, shuddering its head and tail for a moment and then hurrying back to the chest. It slipped in quickly and buried itself cautiously in the gold and gems, the lid closed with only a light 'thump' not even loud enough to wake the keen ears of the prince or king. Thranduil groaned in his sleep and shook away thoughts of creatures, war, and loss. The creature in the chest poked its snout out through the lid once more and sniffed carefully; yes, it was safe here. It smelled strange compared to the dank corners of Erebor, but she much preferred this and the fair creature sleeping not far away. Her crystalline eyes blinked a few times before she slipped her snout back into the chest and fell fast asleep.


	2. Arachna-Pyrexis

**Chapter 2: ****Arachna-pyrexis**

The next day, the group finally entered the main forest with its thick trees, familiar mosses, vines, and scents of green harkening to the strong truth that Mirkwood's name and ailments would be short-lived under the wise and powerful rule of Thranduil. As the troop moved forward, songs of gladness to be back nearest the trees began; their melodies sweeping up like breezes, flowing like the little streams, and sometimes coming to a staccato as many of the animals stopped to demand more silence. Thranduil noticed a strange rattling from the chest and turned to it. He opened the lid a moment, but still there was nothing within. He frowned and re-situated it a few times as they journeyed, not wanting to allow his most precious prize to be infested with something as trivial as vermin or evil. By the seventh time it rattled, he opened the lid yet again and looked in.

There was nothing except the treasure and he again he shook himself, thinking he had been away from his kingdom for too long and was now too weary to be at his best senses. The group reached a dark part of the forest where webbing hung from the trees and strange sounds surrounded them. Thranduil frowned and growled low as Legolas readied his bow and Tauriel did the same. There had not been spiders on the route leading out of their homeland. These had grown more bold and quite possibly had a very specific goal in mind: to wipe out the elves as they returned. The warriors prepared to fight the giant spiders. It was a good thing, too, for many attacked and sought out the prince and king specifically. Despite the best efforts of the men and the slaying of many a spider, at least three elves perished in a matter of minutes. Tauriel took to the trees and ordered those closest to her to do the same, getting more hits and more effect from above.

Thranduil in his resplendent armor fought valiantly, as did Legolas, but the spiders had cunningly separated them from the others long enough to overtake them. A single sting to the base of the head and each elf felt their stomachs lurch and their world go black. Thranduil frantically hurried on all fours to his fallen son, touching his head as he himself lost consciousness. As Thranduil felt their poison take him he heard them whispering of Shelob. This was to be their fate, an offering to their foul queen.

Hours later, the Elvenking awoke first and, though he found it odd, freed himself with ease using a hidden dagger and noticing that the webs had scorch-marks on them. He hurriedly freed and revived his son as well drinking and forcing his son to drink a phial of restoration each. Their movements had not gone unnoticed as the remaining scout spiders began to attack again. Thranduil tried to raise his sword as Legolas groaned and laid back, swooning once more. The blade in the Elvenking's hand trembled and he feared for the first time in his life, losing the battle. Then something suddenly shrieked followed by a blast of white fire. The spiders screamed as they flew backwards, landed on their sides and then promptly burned to death.

Thranduil looked himself over and then his son. Legolas had found his strength and leaned against his father as he stood. To their surprise, they were unharmed except for singing of their fine clothes. A creature with a strange shriek that created such fire? Thranduil could not smell dragon and he didn't sense a wizard nearby at all. The two looked around cautiously for the source and saw nothing but the pile of their belongings including the enormous chest.

"That was close," Legolas said breathlessly. "Too close."

"No harm done, nor would there have been," Thranduil said proudly as he made sure the chest was intact. "You forget, I have defended this realm from things far fouler than a few pesky spiders."

"Not while poisoned," Legolas corrected, looking at his father in concern. They heard another shriek and looked around. This time it sounded distinctly like a great sooty owl. They sighed. "We shouldn't stay here long."

"You mean you'd rather not stay here long," Thranduil corrected as he heard the search party that had been following them approach. He smiled. Of course the others would follow them quickly and efficiently. "Being that this is our home we will stay here a very, very long time," Thranduil replied with a playful pat on his son's shoulder. Legolas glanced down at the chest his father had run to first and frowned. It sat uneasily with him, but he shook that notion away, just glad that spider poison had not taken his father's senses. The rescue party approached with Tauriel at the lead who bowed her head low. Thranduil nodded to her and gestured to the pile. "Gather our things and let us be on our way back to the palace as quickly as we can. Myself, I am famished!" The rest of the men laughed, but both Legolas and Tauriel looked at the chest apprehensively. Thranduil glanced back at it one more time. If it was drawing that much attention, then it must've been worth even more trouble than it was seeming to make with just this small journey. The horse carrying the treasure rode past his proud elk and Thranduil gestured to one of the servants who came closer atop his own horse. "When we return to the palace take the chest to my room immediately," he ordered.

"Of course, Your Majesty," the servant and warrior replied.

"I do so look forward to whatever secret lies within," Thranduil said as his glistening grey-blue eyes sparkled beneath his frosted grey and brown brows in stark contrast to his gold, silken hair, He allowed his son and Tauriel to lead the way, keeping a careful eye on both and glancing back just as pensively at the chest. Yes, something other than gold was in there and he was going to be the first to find out what it was. "I do hope you're a fabled gnome," Thranduil said to himself. "If dwarves are master goldsmiths in truth, then perhaps the legendary gem-hunting skills of the gnomes are true as well!


	3. After-Dinner Guest

**Chapter 3****: After-Dinner Guest**

After wounds were dressed and dignitaries addressed as well, a feast was immediately arranged. The people of Mirkwood felt at ease once more. Feasting was done regularly when the king was at his best and the land prospered, at least here. The chest was taken to Thranduil's quarters as he had demanded, to an anteroom where there were several personal treasures, many that his late wife, Caradithil, had given him. The chest was rather large, but fit snugly in one of the corners. Thranduil admired it for a beat before turning and discarding the singed and web-stained clothes as well as his armor itself. The armor, he sent away to be re-polished and strengthened, while he sadly gave the clothes up for loss after being so singed and stained with his own blood from the spider attack. He selected a maroon and golden set of robes as he poured ointment onto his hair and brushed it through, thinking back to cutting the awful strands of web away from his only child. He pushed away the shudders, but still heard them and they were coming from the chest again. He turned, his ears twitching. That chest was definitely moving. He walked over to it and it ceased making noise at all. A servant knocked on the door and announced that the feast was ready and awaiting the orders of the king. He sighed and frowned at the chest, kicking it slightly once.

"You belong to me now, do you hear? Whatever you are, you are bound to the luxury of the court of the Elvenking Thranduil. It is a blessing for you, yes, but should you refuse to show yourself and displease me then . . ." he began. The servant knocked again and added that the prince was eager to see his father as well. Thranduil sighed and walked away from the chest, straightening his regal garb and donning the wooden crown, this time adorning it with greenery from the forest where they had seen their great triumph. He left the room, nodding to the servant as she bowed her head and blushed at the sight of her beautiful sovereign.

At the feast, elves and a few humans from Lake Town and its sister cities that had aided the elves made very merry. Thranduil had called for the very best to be served including wine. And while this meant smaller glasses, it also meant more toasts.

"To the health and reign of the Elvenking!" proclaimed a young elf soldier.

"To the life and spirit of the prince!" a man of Lake Town added.

"To every man, woman, she elf, and elf and other free folk that stand to fight for the prosperity of one another in sincerity and conviction!" Thranduil added loudly with his glass raised. The crowd cheered and continued their merry-making.

Every so often there was a shriek followed by laughter when several people continued to swear they saw a strange blood-red cat stealing bits of food here and there. "Well what do you expect with the very best in your glass? Only an elf's eyes remain unsullied!" the king laughed. The others laughed as well, though Legolas and those that had seen the creature laughed with more restraint. Suddenly, the prince saw it more clearly and announced it quite loudly. Thranduil smiled, filled with more than merriment. "Ah, then it is a spirit of mischief just as happy to have food and song as we are!"

As the night grew on, more heavy hearted tales were told. The loss of Thorin and his nephews who he had raised as his own. His sister's children, someone had said. Legolas frowned at this. He had been raised without a mother as well and for years had kept back a question at seeing the burden in his father's heart. Perhaps after being so merry, now was the time to answer. Once Thranduil had excused himself to walk for a moment before retiring, the prince followed quietly and approached his father. Thranduil turned.

"Ah, my son," he said with pride, holding out a hand to embrace him about the shoulder. Legolas approached him and frowned a little. Thranduil lifted a wizened brow. "What troubles you, my pride and perfect joy?"

"Ada," Legolas said softly. Thranduil felt his heart begin to quiver at the softness in his son's voice; it meant only one thing . . . a somber subject. The elf sighed. "Ada, why do we never speak of Mother?" Thranduil frowned and looked away, drawing in a deep breath. The prince frowned and urged on. "Ada," he said softly. "I've never even seen, not even once, an image of her."

Thranduil suddenly turned angrily to the younger. He loathed speaking of the loss of his wife and even less when it came from the lips of the reason that she was weakened enough to die a mortal's death. "Legolas, it is vanity to trouble the departed with gawking at their remnants," he hissed. Legolas frowned and looked away as if having been pierced by a dagger. Thranduil saw the pain in his son and was moved yet again. The wine was allowing his emotions to play out more passionately, more like a human. He softened his gaze and pulled his arm tighter around the prince as his voice grew more tender. "Legolas, leaf of the life of spring," Thranduil whispered, touching the side of his son's face affectionately. "You need only to look in the mirror to see your mother."

Unsatisfied, Legolas huffed, but nodded, patting his father on the shoulder. "Goodnight, Ada," he said softly with saddened resignation.

Thranduil watched, shaking his head. Part of him knew that someday he would have to show the boy, someday the memories he kept alive would be made base and expire beneath the gaze of another. Until then, he could console himself with other things. He suddenly remembered the strange chest and excitement returned to him once more. He hurried back to his room and watched the chest carefully as he dressed for bed. The same strange rattling emitted from it every so often, but this time something else caught his senses and attention as well. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he saw a trail of what must have been footprints from mutton-grease and a few bits of bone, meat barely clinging to them, leading to the chest itself. Gnomes didn't eat meat, not like that. He knelt carefully, his heart beginning to race. Had the servant woman been right? Was there some sort of monster in the chest and had it disturbed dinner on more than one occasion? He slowly opened it all the way. He slowly reached in, feeling around. There was the cold of the pale coins, the smooth facets of the jewels, and then . . . something soft and warm. His heart sank, but that was replaced by confusion as he suddenly heard soft purring. A cat? He reached down further, smiling, and stroked more deliberately. A giggly chortling resounded from the chest and Thranduil's fingers relayed the message that while what he was touching was soft, it was not fur. He quickly felt for the nape of its neck, following what he assumed was its proper anatomy and yanked the creature aloft.

"_Laito'loki_," Thranduil whispered in a mixture of terror, disbelief, and awe of such loveliness in this strange creature. "A hatchling dragon alone. . . and alive."


	4. To Slay or Not to Slay?

**Chapter 4:**** To Slay or Not to Slay?**

It must have been a dragon; deepest maroon like the servants and courtiers described, but with eyes like gems that looked palest blue as if the creature itself bore a soul. It struggled uncomfortably at being held by the neck, letting out unhappy grunts and chuffs. The elf managed to get a better grip on the creature, still unsure of why it didn't feel or seem at all the way dragons had always been described and the two he himself had faced. This creature was as soft as the pelt of a Coney, but it had no fur. It was not wingless, though its wings never extended once as it struggled to find a better, less choking, position. Above all, it hadn't bitten him once, not even an attempt. He watched the creature stare back at him, making strange sounds through what appeared to be a beak. Dragons didn't have beaks even in the strangest of their forms. It stared at him in return seeming to take in as much of the strange creature holding it as much as he was appraising as well. This couldn't be, he reasoned, dragons are not in the habit of making sense of things only prying for weaknesses. It suddenly lunged forward at him an inch, for a better look, but the gesture was taken quite differently by the king.

Instinctively, Thranduil withdrew a dagger, slamming the beast on the ground. It let out a terrified shriek as he let out a shout of surprise, readying to stab it through the heart. The dragon shifted beneath his grasp and began to cry pitifully. Thranduil hesitated, still seeing a strange and sentient glimmer in the hue of the creature's eyes. It suddenly began shuddering, trying to curl its limbs to protect itself and wrapping its tail around itself and his wrist simultaneously. It was the size of a cat, a small cat, but not anything close to the size of what must have sired it. How could a dragon hatch an infant so small and not kill it unintentionally or otherwise? He wondered this as the shock of the creature's curious gesture wore off and he realized it was not trying to attack. He sheathed the dagger as the creature began to make what should have been the wail of an unsettled infant. In a dragon, it sounded like a sick dog baying at the moon. A sudden and irrational wave of pity moved through him. Even at the most tender of moments, the king had never found himself drawn to the idea of harboring a tame beast other than a steed and the thought of cradling any creature other than the infant he had sired had never even crossed his mind. But without reason that he could discern, and certainly under the spell of this dragon, as it would be want to do as it grew, he felt compelled to comfort it.

"Sssssshhhhh," he hushed, picking it up into the familiar embrace of a well-trained companion whose cat had been hard at work grooming them for years to do their bidding. The dragon seemed too afraid to fight the gesture, or otherwise inclined to accept it, and settled into a position common for any infant in the arms of another being. Again, it stared into his eyes, their glow piercing something strange in him and creating a haze of calm. He closed his eyes and looked away, suddenly realizing that the innate hypnotic stare of the beast was developing and he was, at the moment, still vulnerable thanks to generous intoxication that, while it had not dulled his reflexes, still dulled the part of his mind meant to mete out the most appropriate judgment. He breathed deeply and tried to think of what to do next. What in all the realms in all of Middle Earth does one do after they have a hatchling dragon settled in their arms?! His mind raced and his heart began to pound anxiously at the thought of Mirkwood ablaze with dragonfire spewed from a petulant child of their race. The sound of the purring returned and Thranduil felt the hatchling's warmth and strong heartbeat fluttering against him. The last time he had held a living thing so delicately, Legolas had been but a few years old and practically as small. At least, that was how he remembered the slight and spritely child that now stood as a proud match to his father. Thranduil shook his head for a moment, reminding himself that he had an entire kingdom to protect from creatures like this and knew that this was likely Smaug's offspring.

"What happened in Esgaroth will be avenged, nay, repeated if another foul creature like him draws breath," he reasoned aloud, the sensible and fierce warrior within him resurfacing. He withdrew his dagger again with one hand and gripped it tightly. The hatchling curled into a smaller form, rolling its back to face outward and laying its head fully against his chest. He suddenly felt the presence of moisture beside the warmth in the creature and, despite instincts that would've told him to be immediately horrified or disgusted, looked down. His heart sank. The creature shifted and pulled its tail around itself more tightly as tears, only a few streamed from its eyes. A creature that was able to cry, to shed tears, was not without a soul itself. He felt a great ache swelling within him; pity, the most unusual condition for a Sindar to feel. It was an entirely useless emotion, or so he had been taught, and usually led to vulnerability. And yet, with this small token of the entire desolation surrounding Erebor and indeed one of the grandest kingdoms in Middle Earth snugly fit in his arms, here it sprung.

Thranduil put away the dagger slowly and pulled the creature away from him as gently as possible. It raised its head and looked back at him, still pleading, still confusing. "What have I done?" he muttered with resignation, looking past the creature decidedly, firmly, at the chest and its sparkling contents. All this potential mishap, the possibility of utter ruin, all for one chest of pale treasure. It seemed to yawn quickly, its sinewy jaws snapping shut almost as quickly as they had pried themselves open for such a gesture. It groaned and tried to catch his gaze again, still pleading. Thranduil wisely averted its gaze. Pity did not constitute trust and there were far greater things to consider even with the well of sorrow for this creature's misfortune welling within him. Instead, he carefully knelt back in front of the chest and pushed it back in. To his surprise, it slipped willingly out of his embrace and back into the coins, burying itself and making a full circle within the treasure until pushing its head up once more. This time its eyes were closed and it was quite clearly asleep. He sighed heavily, unable to shake the pity and regret for its predicament even now that he had been freed of its touch. "What have I done?" he repeated, closing the lid and locking it with the two clasps on either end. He stared down at the strange symbols on the wheel on its lid, gazing at them in concern. He reached out and touched them, eyes flickering with surprise as the surface beneath each symbol suddenly disappeared leaving exactly 4 apertures surely meant to allow air to reach a living being within. Had this chest been fashioned for this creature? Was it fully grown and not an infant at all?

He stood and hurried to the door of his chamber calling for a messenger with a strong fervor in his voice. The courier bowed as he approached. "Send for Radagast the Brown, have him here in this palace in my presence by sundown tomorrow by whatever means necessary," he ordered sternly. The courier looked worriedly at the king after such an onerous command, but nodded. "And tell him it is a matter of grave significance for all that he loves!" He watched the courier hasten away from him silently, his own words resounding in his memory. In truth, the same was weighing on his own heart. This was a matter of terribly grave significance for all that he loved and so much more. He hurried back to the chest, kneeling and checking it for security. As soon as he was sure it was soundly shut, he swept out of his own chambers and hurried down several hallways, listening carefully for movement. To his relief, the occupant here seemed to be asleep already. He crept further in, standing in the doorway and gazing at the sleeping form of his son for a beat. As capable as the younger was, the memories of each tear, of each despondent heartache, of every single glowing triumph and comfort that the child had brought him were still very much alive and no matter how old Legolas grew or how far away he travelled, his childhood remained affixed to the Elvenking more intimately than any embrace and more glittering than any crown.

He slipped back into his own chambers silently and did his best to both remain perfectly calm while keeping half an eye on the chest. A corner of it peered out through the anteroom and he realized after several moments that perfecting the calm he wanted would not be achieved with such a veiled threat. He threw off the covers of his bedclothes and hurried over to the chest, grasping it tightly at both clasps and lifting it, breathing sharply under the weight, now knowing what made it so much heavier. He placed it by the bed and climbed back in, staring down at the apertures displaying nothing but the stillness and dark that was within the chest. It came upon him once and only once that it was a terrible thing for a creature to be locked inside so; but that was dismissed when the conflicting sensible elf reasoned that this was still a dragon no matter its size, the colour or presence of its eyes and tears, or the warmth it produced with such a small heartbeat. "It is safe while it is hidden in the chest," he reassured himself aloud. After several desperate attempts to stay awake at small noises in the room, he closed his own eyes and fell asleep, still wondering to himself, what have I done?

The chest rattled anxiously for a beat as the clasps undid themselves once more. The hatchling lifted its snout through the lid and determined that the elf was asleep and, more importantly, not bearing any manner of metal forged for harm. It slipped out of the chest and slowly crawled over him, resting its head over his shoulder and draping the rest of its warm, soft form over his back. It breathed contentedly as it felt the elf beneath it lulled into the same sense of peace it now felt for the first time in its life. It yawned once more and began to purr once again. The noise, while unusual and very much distinct to the chambers of the king as well as the very kingdom itself, did not stir the Elvenking. The hatchling surrounded both of them with the only means of protection it had for itself at the moment, that allowed it to hide and remain so secretly living to those that had pillaged the plunder of Smaug . . . magic itself, in a pure and entirely innocent form.


	5. Thranduil's First Council

**Chapter 5:**** Thranduil's First Council **

"Of course it is not my pet, you fool, it's a dragon!" Thranduil exclaimed indignantly to Radagast who looked back at the king in both reproach and shock. The elf shook his head. "You are a master of beasts in all manner of all the realms even outside your woods; just tell me what to do with it."

"_**Her**_," Radagast corrected firmly, cradling the hatchling much the way the elf had done the day prior. The hatchling was less comforted and soothed in the wizard's arms, but still curious and tame enough to rest in them and watch him carefully. "This hatchling is a **female** and if you hadn't brought her to my attention when you had, you'd have a small corpse in that chest that would've spread a plague in your kingdom by breath, starting with you. Nasty things live within dragons, no matter how clean, and when they die their life becomes disease itself . . . poor things."

"Poor things?!" Thranduil said angrily. Radagast returned the king's cold stare with aloofness and sighed. Thranduil watched the old wizard set the hatchling down on a small table and muttered something to himself. "Regardless of gender, it has to be dealt with. Do we deposit it somewhere or must we release it into the mountains?"

"Neither," Radagast replied flatly as he withdrew a pair of tweezers and calmly set one hand on the hatchling's back. She grunted uncomfortably and turned, watching Thranduil's movements carefully as Radagast used the utmost care and caution in taking hold of the edge of her beak-like protrusion. "The egg tooth can suffocate creatures like these if isn't removed by the parent or lost in hatching. Why it's still on her, I'm sure I don't know." He quickly pulled forward on the tweezers as the dragon let out a cry, of surprise, not pain, and then snorted in relief as the object came off instantaneously. He smiled and turned to Thranduil, setting the egg tooth down on the table and picking the dragon up again, holding her out to the elf. "You found her, she's likely bonded with you. They're like dire-owls, dragons, and they bond with their sires more than their matrons who usually don't stay to raise them fully."

"And what makes you think it has . . . " Thranduil began. He was cut short when the hatchling leapt from Radagast's grip and plopped onto the floor before leaping up at the elf directly. He tried to step backwards gracefully, but did not manage to evade the frail but nimble talons of the dragon as she climbed onto his shoulder. She slunk around the one side to the other, resting the majority of her body beneath his golden hair. He growled in frustration, but remained still. " . . . bonded with me?"

"Well, other than the obvious signals, Your Majesty," Radagast replied with slight indignation at Thranduil ignoring the obvious clinging of the creature to him. She purred loudly and laid her head down, raising the crest on the back of her head. The old wizard smiled all the more at the display, realizing that with every passing second this hatchling was believing itself to be elfkind or at the very least compatible with them. "There are certain resemblances."

"Explain," Thranduil said slowly, with clear and dagger-sharp irritation. Having awakened next to the creature was awful enough, but having it clinging to him all morning was growing thin presently.

Radagast cleared his throat and tried to think of how best to word this. He fumbled with a few syllables and then folded his hands with a sigh. "Surely she smells the vast array of treasure you keep, in that similar fondness she might sense a kindred spirit and she would indeed be right in doing so. I've never met another elf in any realm as fond of jewels and gold as you," he remarked, taking a step closer. Thranduil raised one brow reproachfully at the remark. What nonsense! All royalty was due stores of treasure for the keeping of their kingdom and his preference of excess was not at all unusual in that regard. "You and your kin also consume meat at more than the high festivals which is likely what has kept her here and alive," he added. "And then there's your crown, it looks almost precisely like . . ."

"Like what?" the elf asked with subtle fury. It was one thing to hint at insulting his treasury or table, but to insult his appearance was too far. Thranduil folded his arms and glared at the wizard as footsteps approached the two. Radagast pointed towards a large glass mirror on the wall and Thranduil turned to it in confusion. As he turned, he noted that the woodland crown bore, in its small spires and gnarled circlet fitting over him elegantly, a certain distinct resemblance to the crest on this dragon's head and indeed had borne resemblance to Smaug's crest as well. Radagast cleared his throat once more and the elf turned back to face him, with continued irritation. His eyes widened as he noted his son, standing stunned and aghast at sight of his father with a miniature dragon perched on his shoulder. A miniature dragon that looked like it could've very well been a sprite's form of Smaug himself save for the slight difference in colour. Thranduil sighed heavily as the dragon shrieked in concern about being seen by an unidentified being. It had taken only a few moments of Radagast's presence, with his radiating respect for all living beings, to soothe her into allowing him to handle her. She dove unceremoniously into the king's tunic, clinging to his chest and digging her talons slightly into his flesh. Yes, very much like a cat, he thought to himself. Thranduil raised one brow and cleared his throat, refusing to acknowledge the sharp stinging surfacing in each tiny wound she inflicted fearfully. "Legolas, _lon nin_," he addressed, the expression not fading at all from his son's face, nor allowing any movement in his posture. "This . . ." he said gesturing to the dragon's head now protruding from the eyes up from his silver décolletage " . . . is exactly what it looks like."

Legolas remained unmoving and unchanged as he reached calmly for his bow and one arrow usually kept in the quiver at his side. Radagast watched in confusion and placed a hand quickly on the elf's wrist as it held the arrow, prompting a look of horror from his father. "Lad, your aim has good enough merit without piercing the heart of the Elvenking," Radagast stated firmly.

"I am not aiming forcefully enough to strike my father," he corrected firmly, pulling away and continuing to keep both weapons aloft.

Thranduil put up both hands towards his son, commanding him silently to halt. "There is no need to take aim forcefully or gently at anything in this room," the king stated. The hatchling huffed and revealed more of her head. Thranduil frowned at her a beat. "For the moment."

"I should say so," Radagast replied angrily. Legolas approached his father slowly, cautiously, staring in complete bewilderment at the dragon's eyes. The wizard shook his head and a finger at the two. "The very idea; violent outburst because your father hides one thing from you," he muttered. Thranduil looked past his son at the wizard with a look that said 'you know better than that' in more than a palpable tone. "It's no wonder Lothlorien keeps its own clear of you lot when making any journey."

"That is quite enough critical observation for the time being, thank you," Thranduil interjected.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Radagast replied, gazing back at the hatchling with continued intrigue and adoration. "You'll need to be feeding her and letting her back down to sleep before we discuss anything further."

"I don't want to touch it let alone feed it," the elf snapped back, surprised that the wizard would even consider such a thing. Did this creature have that much power in its gaze already? It was a good thing he had avoided a straight glance into her eyes all morning. Radagast turned as the hatchling made a pitiful moan. The elf groaned and looked to the side as both the amused wizard and his completely baffled offspring stared at him and the hatchling still peeking out at them. "Oh, very well," he muttered. If he was going to be forced to humor Radagast's wishes to look further at the creature before he convinced him to take it elsewhere he might as well at least satiate his own hunger as well. The sight in the mirror still haunted him; the crest on this hatchling an almost identical match for his own. If what Radagast had implied about her rarity and 'bond' with him was true, perhaps he could gain another reputation . . . the Dragon King.


	6. Isilme

**Chapter 6:**** Isilme**

Thranduil sat down at his private table in the room adjacent to his private library. Legolas joined him eagerly, ecstatic at being in so intimate an area of the palace with his father, while Radagast followed, marveling at the beauty and woodwork around him. Thranduil settled as peacefully as possible at the head of the table with the dragon settled comfortably on his shoulders and Legolas growing more and more intrigued at the little creature by the minute. As the three sat down and a confused and rather frightened servant was sent to fetch breakfast for them, Radgast remarked that there seemed to be a more silent acceptance of the creature because of the king's obvious power. Thranduil raised a brow at him inquisitively as the dragon stretched its neck out and examined the younger elf more carefully. It took several moments for Thranduil to notice that the dragon was now affixed on his son and panic filled him. He instinctively reached up and pushed the dragon's head away from his son's view. Legolas frowned as Radagast began rattling off facts and, primarily, theories he had collected about dragons themselves. Not all dragons in Middle Earth was evil and, in fact, some settlements of men worshipped and were protected by them which made Radagast the only wizard convinced that their purpose could very well be protectors of realms much like guardian spirits. Ignoring the comments and growing more curious, Legolas finally waited for an opportunity where his father was countering something Radgast had said as 'nonsense' and reached out both hands, bidding the dragon to come to him. The hatchling hesitated, but then suddenly shot straight into his arms, climbing around him and recognizing his scent as being so very similar to her master's.

"And furthermore, the primary theory is that Morgoth himself had to bring their race into our realm by plucking them magically from a mirror world, an alternate dimension, if you will," Radagast continued as the food was brought to them and Thranduil kindly thanked the servant before rebuffing Radagast's newest drivel. Radgast frowned at him. "You know if you're going to rule for centuries past the ages of your higher kindred leaving off for the Undying Lands you'd better start accepting the new information wizards receive everyday through careful research and extensive meditation."

"Be that as it may, master Radagast, the fact remains that Illuvitar created the realm with the sole purpose of . . ." Thranduil began. He suddenly noticed out of the corner of one eye and with the soft chortling of the dragon meeting his ear from a distance, that the dragon was not merely no longer on his person, it was in his son's presence. "Legolas! What in the realms of free-folk are you doing?!"

"She's hungry, Ada," Legolas explained with an audible smile as he carefully handed small pieces of roasted bird to the dragon. She pulled them easily from his fingers, her tiny teeth not even nearing his flesh as she fed peacefully. Legolas was simultaneously stroking her back from the neck down as he fed her, smiling brightly like a boy with a new puppy. Thranduil frowned. "She's so soft, Ada, like a duckling."

"Rightly spoken, Legolas, that's down and she'll shed it in a few years," Radagast mumbled with an approving shake of one hand towards the boy as he finished his soft-boiled egg happily. Thranduil turned and glared at the wizard for encouraging the boy to interact with the creature. He sighed and looked back at the innocent and beautiful creature seated like a cat in front of him with its tail curled gently around itself. Radgast waved his spoon at the boy and the dragon. "For that matter, her wings should start to spread in a few days as well. If they spread enough to allow her to fly to great heights, that would be most good for your kingdom."

"And how is that?" Thranduil asked, eyeing the dragon and contemplating pulling her back towards him and feeding her himself before stashing her away in the chest again. She was comfortable there, after all, and he felt more comfortable with her there as well.

"Well, the better a dragon flies, the more useful their wings, the less likely they are to breathe fire," Radagast reasoned as he started on a small roll. "Logically air and fire do not get on, so a winged Jack drake or, in her case a Jane drake, will have minimal powers to breathe fire if at all. Most winged creatures are elementally just that or they breathe lightning or ice," the wizard added. "There have been a few exceptions of course."

"Smaug the Terrible being the chiefest of those that disprove your ridiculous theory" Thranduil remarked unhappily, taking a chalice in his hand and drinking deeply from the cool nectar. "Fire blazing even around his body and able to reach heights almost as grand as the sun."

"Yes, but I believe he was a hybrid, your Majesty," Radagast announced. Legolas looked up, inriged. Forgetting to allow the dragon to eat the portion he was holding. "There is a rare dragon-like bird that appears from the east called The Phoenix whose body is prone to flames even in flight and can die in fire itself, but be reborn from the flames. I believe Smaug's matron or sire might have been one of those Phoenix creatures and that's what gave him such longevity and strength."

"I doubt that, Radagast, I really do. There's never been proven to be any creature like that Phoenix you've described and I won't tolerate the notion of mythological beasts being presented as fact in front of my son or my court," Thranduil corrected. "Why the next thing you know you'll be going on about the anatomy of a unicorn!"

"Unicorns are real, your Majesty, just not indigenous to Middle Earth," Radgast replied with an unhappy sigh. Thranduil grasped his brow and looked down at what he thought his stomach could handle eating after such a dreadful night. He took hold of a single strawberry and sighed,

"Ouch!" Legolas suddenly exclaimed. Thranduil dropped everything and rose angrily, ready to deal whatever punishment was necessary for whatever or whoever had harmed his son. Radagast stood as well, ready to calm the Elvenking if necessary. Legolas pulled his finger away from the dragon that had accidentally nipped him while snatching the meat from his hand. Instead of grimacing in pain, Legolas smiled at the little creature and stroked her back as she lowered her head in shame at causing such a negative outburst. "No harm done, little sister."

"It is not your sister," Thranduil corrected sternly.

"Well, she sees you as her father, why would she be anything else?" Legolas replied with a laugh as he fed her once more, comforting her as best he could.

"A name would be better than a title," Raddagast interjected. Thranduil turned to him inquisitively. Radagast downed a glass of water and sighed heavily. "One of the firm beliefs of Lady Galadriel is that to name even the basest of creatures gives it room to be civilized."

"Galadriel has never dealt with a hatchling dragon," Thranduil muttered with irritation, watching his son clearly enjoying the creature's presence. "Titta Prestad seems appropriate."

"Don't be so cross with the little thing," Radgast said firmly. "She's had a long, difficult journey to your court and she seems to want to obey you more readily than any dwindling Sindar in the rest of Middle Earth."

"Isilme," Legolas announced. Thranduil turned and noticed that the dragon had ceased moving, looking up at the younger elf with intrigue. "Her eyes look like full moons . . . I think we should call her Isilme."

"That's a lovely name," Radagast commented. "Simply beautiful." He turned to Thranduil and whispered. "What des Isilme mean?"

"It means 'moon light'," Thranduil sighed. The dragon cooed at the younger as Leglas leaned forward and gently kissed the hatchling's head. Incensed at this inappropriate bonding, Thranduil reached down and quickly snatched away the dragon. Legolas frowned at his father, but Isilme chortled happily and writhed comfortably in the king's arms until she was comfortably reclined against his arm once more, her long tail dangling over his wrist with her head tucked in the crook of his elbow. Radgast smiled more brightly at this. Even if the king was being a little unreasonable at not allowing his son to have time with what would likely bond with him as well, he seemed to be handling the dragon even better now than he had been moments before. "Let us hope that does not mean she will be awake all night again under the moon's light."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Radagast said softly, joining the king at his side as he wiped his mouth unceremoniously on his sleeve. Legolas cleaned his mouth properly and stood as well, gazing at his father with anticipation as Isilme purred and breathed calmly in Thranduil's arms. "All hatchlings are nocturnal until they learn to fly. I personally think they need to take in sunlight through their wings the way we take in sunlight through our own skin."

"Noted," Thranduil said unhappily. The thought of more sleepless nights made him even more uncomfortable. "I suppose I should look into nursemaids for her, then."

"No need, Ada, I can look after her if she's to be up all night," Legolas offered.

Thranduil frowned at his son. "Don't you have a young lady to be courting?" he asked. Legolas looked at his father in confusion before answering 'no' quickly. "Then it is high time you go and find one. I will see you again at the evening meal. Until then, be on your way and try to find some form of normal companionship."

"Yes, Ada," Legolas muttered unhappily, adding in softer mutters about how unfair the situation was given the fact that the dragon liked him as well and he had more experience training beasts than his father.

As the younger elf disappeared down the hall, Radagast turned to Thranduil with an excited gaze. "We'd be able to tell even more about her looking at her egg-shell," the wizard announced. Thranduil turned and looked at him in confusion, realizing that he was mindlessly stroking the little dragon without even desiring to really do so. He sighed and nodded, explaining that the hatchling had been found in a chest of pale gold and white jewels. "Oh, how wonderful! It must be perfectly preserved then! Simply incredible, show me at once!"

Radgast hurried off towards the king's chambers without even so much as a 'by your leave' or 'let us adjourn', Thranduil sighed and gently took Isilme into both hands, holding her up to his face. Her broad, glistening pale eyes stared into his with gratitude and odd affection, even he could sense it. He sighed and pressed her back against his chest, stroking her chest as she purred all the louder and wrapped her small front legs around his hand as he stroked her. "You're turning out to be quite a stir, you know that, don't you?" he asked softly. She cooed and squealed in reply, then suddenly, and the king was certain that the words had come from her mouth itself, she repeated the words 'You belong to me, now' in a small innocent tone. Thranduil froze at remember the words he had spoken to the rattling chest. He groaned and cursed himself for such arrogance as he followed Radagast to his personal chambers. "Well, if nothing else," Thranduil remarked as Isilme buried her head further into the crook of his arm. "You seem to have my son's attention as well."


	7. Howling and Night Wings

_(((I figure this is how a single-father with as much on his shoulders as Thranduil would behave, denying an afterlife and being angry at the thought of his wife's death particularly since despite my other fiction, he probably had to mourn alone since the other elves did not acknowledge his sovereignty and saw him as a 'lesser' creature hence not including him in the White Council. I also thought adding the owl character will give you something incredible to see in the next few chapters! *Methostra is an Elvish word I created using their runic symbols and phonetics to create the term 'night owl'.)))_

**Chapter 7:**** Howling and Night Wings**

It had been precisely two days since Radagast had come to see about Thranduil's acquisition and Legolas' new fascination and self-proclaimed sister. Suffice to say that while the thought of Legolas being so enamored and excited by the care of another creature did please the Elvenking, it distressed him that it was a dragon and a dragon who was clearly unaware of her own dragonspell. In fact, the others seemed oblivious to the fact that the creature was using it's powers even in part, over them. Still, at least he trusted the resolve of his son and the magic of the wizard to protect them from any mischief the dragon might create. Isilme stayed in one of three places; the firm embrace of Thranduil, draped over his arm, the proud perch on Thranduil's shoulder once more emphasizing his crown's resemblance to a crest, or the loving and gentle embrace of Legolas who usually found her lying belly up and purring like a kitten as he stroked and whispered to her. Part of Thranduil filled with joy at the sight of such tenderness, being reminded of his son first adopting a hound that lasted a total of fifteen years in his care, but the other part remembered not only the heartache in his young son's demeanor at burying the poor cur as well as the wrath and ruin of dragon fire. The later swirled anxiously in the back of his mind like nothing else.

Isilme had given up allowing Radagast to handle her once Legolas had been introduced and now seemed to prefer the company of elves of Thranduil's line alone, much to the chagrin of the Elvenking as he tried to sleep those next two nights. The days were filled with Legolas at one side and Radagast on the other, the one either gently comforting the little orphan and the other studying her for specifics and rattling off facts that Thranduil barely kept in his senses given the lack of sleep. Radagast had carefully sifted by hand through the chest for two days with the help of Legolas and Thranduil both, but none of them had been able to find the eggshell that belonged to little Isilme. Thranduil declared that on the third day there would be no other option but to dump out the contents. Each night, Isilme stayed primarily awake and making strange and often frightening sounds. Not loud and shrieking noises, but soft and eerie that roused the king from an already unsteady rest with a dragon continuing to crawl into the bed with him. No matter how many times he pushed her back into the chest, she continued to insist on his company. Thranduil had yet to figure out how she had undone an outside lock with her magic or whatever other means she had, but somehow the little hatchling had made it out of the chest over and over again only to cuddle up next to her unwilling sire with the strange noises every so often making him all the more unwilling and agitated.

Suddenly, a noise roused both a dozing Thranduil and a finally sleeping Isilme from their rest. It was an unearthly howl, a set of three terrifying shrieks that echoed from the forest, near the base of the entrance to the living rock that made the king's palace. It resounded through the halls within the palace itself and Thranduil sat bolt upright with Isilme immediately scurrying up his shoulders and behind his golden hair to hide. He felt her trembling and heard the unusual pathetic whimpering of a small dragon. This would've been amusing and downright laughable under other circumstances after facing Smaug and other dragons. However, after three nights without sleep and so close to the victory of a terrible battle, this was nothing short of infuriating. Thranduil threw the covers off his bed, ignoring Isilme digging her claws into his shoulders and begging him with chirps and soft grunts to not venture out onto the balcony in the hall. Isilme, it seemed, was more frightened of the noise than the Elvenking himself.

Legolas had also moved quickly into the hallway at the shriek and glanced around in an expression that had grown more curious than terrified since childhood. Thranduil glanced down at Isilme, as she crawled down to his chest, this time outside his clothing, and clinging to him. Both were trying to listen for the sound again. At the third set of shrieks he moved out into the hall and onto the balcony, staring into the darkness of the forest with concern. Isilme whimpered and buried her head against him at the sight of the vast unknown. The king felt a hand suddenly grasp his shoulder and turned with a shout. Legolas stared back at his father in concern, as Thranduil's expression shifted to anger at the intrusion and the thought of being hindered holding this dragon hatchling from smacking the boy on the back of the head.

"Ada, it's back," the younger whispered.

"Nothing is back, Legolas. It was a methostra, nothing else," Thranduil corrected firmly.

"I've never heard an owl, no matter their size, make that kind of noise before," Legolas commented, still concerned.

Thranduil sighed heavily. "The great black owls of the southlands deep in the heart of where the greenery grows faint make those sounds. I heard them when I was very young," he replied. Legolas continued to stare at his father in concern. "Oh for goodness' sake, what is it?"

"If the owls live so far south, what would they be doing here?" he asked.

"I don't know, boy," he snapped back, the lack of sleep formally catching up to him in the most informal fashion. It was not often that Thranduil spoke cruelly to Legolas or sharply, but it had seemed that since the dealings with the company headed for Erebor that he had developed some sort of smoldering anger with his son that even Legolas returned from time to time. "What in whole of the realms is a dragon doing in my bedchamber?!"

"It was in the chest you . . . " the younger began.

"Legolas, it is night, it is dark, and it is time for all creatures to be in either sleep or on the hunt. Unless you wish to take up arms and go seek it out I suggest you return to your chambers," Thranduil said firmly.

"Good thinking, Ada," Legolas said with a nod. "I will go and wake Tauriel, she alone can track in the dark like a bird."

"Oh no you don't. I'm not having you ponder off into the forest chasing a sooty owl with a loud cry. Now go back to your chambers and I will do the same," Thranduil corrected sternly. "Am I the only one in this whole palace who hasn't slept in three days?!"

"Well I think you've kept Isilme up, hasn't he little sister?" Legolas remarked with a fond touch to the hatchling's head.

"The dragon? I make a statement about the deterioration of my senses and you think of the dragon?!" Thranduil exclaimed. Legolas frowned at him as if to ask why he wasn't doing the same. "Now you listen to me; the only reason this dragon is not out in the Misty Mountains right this minute is because Radagast has some perverted notion about learning of her origin! And since I cannot do without his input for at least a short time since you've insisted on keeping the thing, and I cannot replace what he has offered to provide I am inclined to humor him."

"What exactly dis he promise to provide you with?" Legolas asked in strained confusion. The old wizard had been called only twice into the kingdom before and Radagast never really seemed to like the company of the elves. His father was usually friendly only to creatures that returned his gracious nature.

"Antivenom," Thranduil replied flatly.

"For?"

"Spiders, boy, big blasted black spiders that won't succumb to big blasted black owls!" Thranduil said, nearly shouting the last part into the forest. The shrieking came again, this time seeming to come from two places at once: one in front of them and one behind.

Legolas looked at his father as his skin began to grow pale. "I told you it's returned . . . it gets closer every time and now it's . . ."

"Not real and it never was," Thranduil interjected in a harsh whisper. "Enough of this childishness, Legolas, the forest is no stranger to strange sounds, you know this. There are no such things as ghosts, gaunts, ghouls, and spectres, what's dead is dead." The prince frowned a little at his father's words, knowing what was to follow this statement. It had been forged by years of duty counterbalanced with hours of grief and bitterness at the loss of Caradithil. "There is no afterlife, there is no otherworld, there is only here and the Havens beyond and since we have elected to stay we join the forest in death and that is the end of it."

"Ada, such things are objected by Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond both," Legolas countered.

"Then let them come and deal with the blasted thing after they've spent a few nights without rest!" he retorted hotly. The subject had been a taboo for a long time, the concept of the dead, death, the Havens themselves, and even the otherworld. It was said in both Rivendell and Lothlorien that the banishment of spirits had left Thranduil's halls quite haunted with their oppressive silence. Thranduil shook his head and closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "We have all had a long, weary few days, and it is time we began to circle back around to peace in the evenings."

"Yes, Ada," Legolas replied quickly, looking away with the same expression he had held as a child when denied the subject and the subject of his mother. Still, he had heard stories from the others and had heard on several occasions, without being heard himself, his father weeping for hours in the dead of night after the mention of the subject. Hundreds of years had not been able to scar nor salve the gaping hole left by the precious she-elf in the king's heart and Legolas felt it his duty to protect it as staunchly as he defended the realm itself. If his father needed to retreat into the darkness and mourn a while longer, he would not deny it to him. Isilme looked up at Thranduil sadly and leapt from his chest, clattering across the floor and leaping onto Legolas' shoulders, climbing around to his chest as he fumbled to embrace her, grunting in slight pain. "No, no, Isilme. You belong with the chest you came in."

Thanduil watched his son approach him with the hatchling and noted that for the moment she seemed more at peace in his arms. He sighed and rubbed his brow, putting a hand out. "Forgive my sharp tongue, _lon nin_, I am not myself," Thranduil admitted softly. Legolas nodded as he moved to place Isilme in his father's arms. Thranduil put up a hand dismissively. "She seems to desire your company tonight. Let her have what she desires at the moment as it may just be what all of us need." Legolas nodded slowly, stroking Isilme's neck tenderly and looking back at his father with forgiveness and worry. Thranduil sighed and placed a hand gently on his son's shoulder. "You have much to offer where I cannot."

Legolas said nothing more as he turned and headed back to his chambers with the hatchling. Both fell asleep quickly. Thranduil returned to his own chambers and pondered many heavy things before lying back and finally closing his eyes. He looked out towards the window and jumped, startled at the sight of something strange. A great sooty owl had landed on the railing of the window, staring straight at him with silver eyes. Thranduil slowly started to sit upright as the owl slowly and majestically lifted its wings to their fullest. It leaned forward and let out one more shriek. Thranduil jumped at this and frowned. After a few seconds the owl had settled itself back to perching properly though still looked terribly strange and frightening. Thranduil settled himself and addressed the owl directly. "So you are the cause of all that raucous, are you?" he asked with a brow lifted. The owl seemed to stare back unyielding, but with a slight smirk. "You had my son in a poor humor, filling his thoughts with such darkness after all the troubles he's already suffered."

"If he's suffered, Thranduil son of Oropher," the owl hissed in a very distinct and deeply unnerving voice. "Then as his father you are to blame."

Thranduil's eyes raised and widened in disbelief. The owl cackled and spread its wings once more then flew past the king, into the palace and into some place where the king couldn't see him. Thranduil gasped and scooted backwards at this, considering either chasing after the owl angrily and catching it by the neck or sending the guards after it. In the end, he decided that it was some sort of illusion, a physical form of guilt that he had allowed to take him momentarily when contemplating having spoken so harshly to his precious child. He sighed heavily and finally allowed himself to recline properly against the pillows, snuggling safely into the blankets and breathing a prayer that his senses would allow him to sleep instead of suffer anymore visions. A thought came to him and he sighed, standing and hurrying quietly to his son's chambers. Once more, to his relief, Legolas was fast asleep in his own bed.

Thranduil frowned and looked around for Isilme, suddenly realizing she wasn't there. He heard a soft purring and then felt the familiar small stinging of her claws as she climbed up the Elvenking's back and onto his shoulders, draping her head past his neck and finally seeming to fall asleep. Thranduil felt an unusual and powerful tiredness overtake him as well. He walked slowly back to his own chambers and slipped into bed, not being careful for Isilme, but instead allowing her to resituate herself to fit snugly beside him. The two lay asleep peacefully as the long night dragged on. Neither were aware of the silver pair of eyes watching them from a dark corner. The owl smiled at the sight of the dragon and the Elvenking. He was in the right place and now needed to wait for the right time.


End file.
